


Ragnarök: The Road Movie

by Skyuni123



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, Thor (Movies)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Road Trip, Angst and Humor, Arguing, Author's Favorite, F/F, Government Conspiracy, Humor, M/M, Road Trips, Surrealism, Wakes & Funerals, some weird shit happens ok it's probably best to just deal w it
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-05-19
Updated: 2019-04-19
Packaged: 2019-05-09 03:52:42
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 11
Words: 12,350
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14708568
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Skyuni123/pseuds/Skyuni123
Summary: “I look at the story of Thor in terms of an indie film. It’s about a guy trying to get home because there’s someone in his house, and he’s got to sort that out. And along the way he’s got his annoying brother, a drunk chick, and some bipolar kid with him. And he’s just trying to get home.“ - Taika WaititiThis is that story.





	1. Chapter 1

The phone call that Thor gets at 3am isn’t a good one.

 

If he’s honest, he’s been expecting it for a while now, but hearing that your father’s died in a nursing home is never a very good phone call to receive.

 

Especially at 3am.

 

Odin was never a very good father, but the loss still hits Thor hard. He blinks away a couple of tears and asks his brother, “when’s the funeral?”

 

“Saturday. In New York.”

 

It’s barely Wednesday, it’s six days before Christmas, and he’s resoundingly in Los Angeles. “Flights?”

 

“Booked solid. And believe me, I _tried._ ”

 

Loki is an actor, and not a terrible one too. He’s got some money, and even more influence. If he says he’s tried, he’s _tried._

 

“Shit. Do you think mother would mind if we didn’t go?” Thor is right in the middle of writing his PhD dissertation, and he does not have the time, or the money, for this shit.

 

He can hear his brother rolling his eyes through his phone. “Mother would tear you apart, Thor. Don’t be a moron. Besides, Odin actually liked you.”

 

“Hardly.”

 

“Well, he liked you more than he liked me.” Loki huffs. It is not a pleasant sound. “Bring your laptop, do your work on the way there. I hate to say it, but we’re going to have to -”

 

Road trip.

 

Across the entirety of the country.

 

With his _brother._

  


And Thor loves his brother, really, he does, but a lot of that love translates very easily to hate when they’re in confined spaces together for longer than two hours.

 

But it’s his father.

 

And it’s his funeral.

 

Shit.

 

“Fine. I’ll come. When are you picking me up?”

 

“In about four hours.”

 

“Ugh.”

 

“And Hela texted me and said she’d be there.”

 

UGH.

 

-

 

Thor gets about two more hours of sleep before he wakes up, dry-mouthed, and nauseous like he’s been on a bender all night. His eyes ache.

 

He may or may not have cried himself to sleep. He’ll never tell.

  
He scrabbles around his apartment for as many clean clothes as he can muster - and honestly, there’s not that many - and spills an open can of Red Bull onto his best dress shirt.

 

Fuck.

 

Fuck.

 

_Fuck._

 

Today, of all days. WHY.

 

He’s just going to have to see Odin out in the patterned shirt with the roses on it.

 

Well, at least the old man can dislike his choices both in life and in death.

 

His bank account’s not looking amazing - there’ll probably be enough to get his brother there and back without resorting to all-out prostitution for money, but it’ll be tight. He hasn’t exactly planned to take a two-day road trip across the US and all.

 

He packs his laptop, locks the front door of his apartment, and heads down the creaky stairs to wait for Loki.

  


When his brother actually turns up, he’s driving a beat-up Honda Odyssey. It’s blue, scratched, and one of the doors is completely pink.

 

Figures.

 

“Good morrow, brother.” Thor climbs into the passenger seat and throws his bag into the back, remembering far too late that there’s a laptop in it.

 

Something crunches, ominously.

 

“Why are you driving a car that looks like it should have been destroyed at the turn of the century?”

 

“Lovely to see you too, brother.” Loki says, with a hint of a sneer. “I didn’t see you contributing in the automobile department.”

 

“I live in an _apartment._ Where on earth would I keep a car? Whose car is this?”

 

Loki looks at him, shiftily. “...Jeff’s.”

 

“Jesus fuck.” Thor says, very eloquently, and tries very hard not to touch anything. “We’re driving in your partner’s car? How many times have you two had sex in this car? Actually, don’t answer that, I don’t want to know.”

 

“Jeff and I are business partners. He’s my _producer._ ” Loki replies, and resolutely avoids eye contact. “We’re not actually in a relationship.”

 

“You and I both know that he’s described as the ‘Grandmaster of sex’ in certain ketamine-laced Hollywood circles.” Thor is very disgusted by the term on a day to day basis, and it tastes worse as he says it. “And you and I also both know that you’re fucking this guy who is nearly 30 years older than you. Gross.”

 

“Just because you can’t keep a loving and fulfilling relationship doesn’t mean that everyone else has to be unhappy.” Loki replies, smugly, and that _stings._

 

Not because it’s true, because it is resoundingly not, but because the ridiculousness of Loki’s statement surprises him. “Loving and fulfilling? You slept with him so he’d help get you cast in _Kinky Boots._ It wasn’t even for a good role.”

 

Loki shrugs. “At least I’ve not been dumped recently.”

 

“I wasn’t dumped. I dumped Jane! It was a mutual dumping.”

“Yeah…” Loki draws it out, through his teeth, in a way that is very, very irritating. “What does that Darcy girl do, anyway?”

 

Thor looks wildly at the dashboard clock and realises they’ve only been in a car together for about five minutes.

 

He’s going to kill himself if this keeps up.

 

Actually, he’s going to kill _Loki_ if this keeps up.

 

This was a bad, bad idea.

 

[](https://www.flickr.com/photos/143259957@N04/42991912444/in/dateposted-public/)


	2. Chapter 2

_Wednesday. 9am._

 

They hit traffic right outside Victorville and Loki’s forced to slow to a crawl behind a huge truck carrying a stack of metal pipes.

 

By this point, Thor’s got his headphones on, window down, and he’s resolutely ignoring Loki. He’s not going to rise to any of his bait, despite having done so for the last two hours.

If they get _Final Destination_ ed by those pipes, it’ll almost be a blessing.

The only problem is that he’s hungry. He had breakfast at 6am and he’s a pretty large guy. It’s only fair.

 

He pulls out one earbud. Loki is playing something through the car stereo that sounds a lot like Ride of the Valkyries and also a lot like trash.

Honestly. His references have references.

 

“Brother mine?” He says, sweetly, because his stomach’s on the line.

 

“What.”

 

Loki’s tone is not nearly as sweet.

 

“Can we get breakfast?”

 

Loki huffs. “What do you want for breakfast?”

 

“Tacos?”

 

“You’re always on a diet. Aren’t you dieting now or something?”

 

“Our father just _died.”_ There is a time and a place for being healthy, and six hours after learning of his father’s demise isn’t it.

  


Loki pulls into the drive thru of a Baker’s not long after that.

Thor orders several machaca tacos and a Slurpee. Loki orders a black coffee.

There’s really no better way to describe their dynamic.

 

They stop at some park down the way and sit in silence. It’s not uncomfortable, probably will never be uncomfortable, but _goddamn_ , it’s weird.

 

Thor’s not been in a car with his brother for such an extended period of time in what… five years? After he’d bailed him out after all of that Stark gala nonsense?

Wow. Time flies when your family is this fucked up.

 

“Do you regret not being with Odin when he died?” Loki asks, and Thor chokes on his Slurpee.

 

They’ve barely been in the same vicinity for five years and THIS is what he starts with? Fucking actors. All the same.

 

“...Do I wish I was by his side at the time?” It’s a hard question to answer, but he pushes through. “Yes. Do I wish I’d taken over the family business when he’d asked me to? No way in hell.”

 

Loki settles back in his seat, apparently satisfied. “That’s what I thought you would say. Are you sad?”

 

“My father just _died.”_ And it’s damn embarrassing how his voice cracks on the last word. “Odin was a shit father, but he was still my dad.”

 

The other man nods.

 

“Are you sad?” It’s probably not the best question to ask someone who’s notorious for having a bit of a temper, but he does it anyway.

 

Loki sips at his coffee, thoughtfully. “I would-”

 

But he doesn’t get to finish his sentence, because there’s a sudden hammering at Thor’s window that makes them both jump.

 

The woman out the window is wild-haired, wide-eyed, and she looks like she’s on the verge of a panic attack. “Are you leaving town?!” She gasps, and looks over her shoulder, panic obvious in her eyes.

 

And Thor isn’t really one to pick up strays, but he knows trouble when he sees it. “Yes.”

 

“No.” Loki grunts, and looks at him with a withering look. “We can’t.”

 

“Yes we can.” Thor replies, and rolls down the window. “We’re heading to New York. Where are you going?”

 

“Away from here. Please.”

 

Fuck, she’s _bleeding._ All the way down her left arm. Are those  _scratches_ on her face? “Get in.”

 

She nods at him, shakily, and fumbles with the rear passenger door. It takes her three tries to open it.

 

“What the fuck are you doing?” Loki hisses, under his breath. “We’re going to a funeral, not taking in hitchhikers.”

 

“She’s hurt, dumbass, are you really going to leave someone out on the street who’s asking for help?”

 

Yeah, that’s something Loki would probably do, actually.

 

Loki rolls his eyes. “Fine. When it comes back to bite us, I’m blaming you.”

 

“Hey guys,” The woman in the back seat says, voice strained on the edge of panic, “Unless you want to get your car fucked up, I suggest you drive away. Now!”

 

The only thing Thor sees in the rearview mirror before Loki pulls out into the road is a bunch of men. With baseball bats.

 

What in the actual _fuck_ is going on?

[](https://www.flickr.com/photos/143259957@N04/29837694218/in/dateposted-public/)


	3. Chapter 3

 

_Wednesday, 10am_

 

Loki drives in silence for about twenty minutes.

 

The woman in the backseat patches herself up. The way she does it suggests that she’s had quite some experience that area, which frankly, is a bit worrying.

 

Once she’s rolled her sleeve back down over the bandage on her arm, she leans forward between the two seats and says, “I’m Brunnhilde. You two are?”

 

_Brunnhilde._ Seriously. It’s like the universe has pricked its ears up at their plight.

 

Loki laughs. It is not a pleasant sound. “You’ve got to be joking.”  


“I don’t joke. You,” she gestures roughly in Thor’s direction, “what’s your name?”

 

“What I think my brother was trying to say is that he and I are no strangers to Norse names. Fairly well acquainted, in fact. I’m Thor. He’s Loki.”

 

Brunnhilde barks a laugh. “And you’re brothers? What did your parents do, lose a bet?”

 

Yes, actually. That had been essentially what had happened. Frigga and Odin, having been blessed with _such normal names,_ had decided to pass the curse onto their next generation. “As I’m sure you can tell, school was a fun time for the both of us.”

 

“You’re not called Brunnhilde. _That_ was a trip.”

 

“Yes, so, _Brunnhilde,”_ Loki asks, sweetly, though it’s really not sweet at all. “How long were you planning to stay with us?”

 

“...You said you were going to New York?” She asks, though it’s obvious by the look in her eyes that she’s not trying to get her hopes up.

 

“Yeah.” Thor replies.

 

“Could I… maybe… stay until New York? I can pay!” She stammers, like they’re going to kick her out of the car in the middle of the highway. “I just… I can’t go back there. You feel?”

 

It’s not a problem for Thor. Anything’s better than having to listen to his brother talk about his theatre shows all day, and Brunnhilde seems… worried. He looks over at Loki and mouths, “don’t be mean.”

 

Loki rolls his eyes and pouts at him. “Are you in trouble with the law, Brunnhilde?”

 

It’s rare for Loki to give a damn about the law. It’s rare for their family, on a whole, to give a damn about the law. He’s only doing it now to be a pain.

 

That’s Loki’s main goal in life, really.

 

“I’m not in trouble with the _law._ ”

 

“Good.” Thor interrupts, grabbing the metaphorical bull by the metaphorical horns and running with it. “Then we’ll take you to New York.”

  


Loki doesn’t speak to him for three straight hours.

 

Thor isn’t overtly concerned by that. Once, when they were both kids, Loki didn’t speak to him for the entire duration of a flight between New York and Beijing. It was thirteen straight hours!

 

He can live with three in a car.

 

Thor busies himself with talking to Brunnhilde instead. She’s not particularly verbose, instead letting him ramble his head off, but he’s fine with that and she seems to be too. He does learn that she’s trying to get to her cousin’s house in Manhattan, but she’s annoyingly quiet on the origin of the bleeding arm.

 

And the scratches on her face.

 

They look like they _hurt._

  


It’s midday by the time they pass through Las Vegas, and Loki pulls the car to a halt at a gas station on the outskirts of Arrolime.

 

“You’re driving until Denver.” He says, and then climbs out of the car to fill it up with gas.

 

“He’ll want to sleep.” Thor pokes his head back around the edge of the seat to look at Brunnhilde. “You can come up here. If you want.”

 

“Buy me Redvines and I’m yours, blondie.” Brunnhilde replies, and winces. “That sounded terrible but you know what I mean. Here.”

 

She tosses him a twenty and starts collecting her things back into her bag.

 

Thor, wanting candy and on the verge of having a pressing bladder issue, clambers out of the car and ventures into the gas station.

 

He’s delighted to find a rare Australian candy that he’s especially fond of hiding in a dusty packet behind three outdated Twinkies. Brunnhilde’s Redvines are piled high to the ceiling in one corner, so he stocks up on those and three different flavours of M&Ms.

 

He might have gained a few pounds by the time he gets to New York, but that’s on his head. He’s _grieving._

 

(Sort of.)

 

By the time he gets back to the car, Loki is dozing in the back (he’s a heavy sleeper, he always has been) and Brunnhilde’s commandeered the stereo.

 

The first few seconds of Janelle Monae’s _Dance Apocalyptic_ pumps out through the speakers as he starts the car.

 

He’s got his candy, some good music, and it’s a sunny day, as well as someone who’s actually good to talk to sitting next to him.

 

Even though they’re on the way to a literal funeral, things could be much, much worse.

 

Hindsight is a funny thing, yeah?

[ ](https://www.flickr.com/photos/143259957@N04/42992168114/in/dateposted-public/)


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The kids make it to Parachute, Colorado!

_Wednesday, 9.30 pm._

 

It is hell in the car.

They’d hit traffic outside one of the godawful small towns just past Arrolime and they’d had to wait in the sweltering heat for nearly an hour.

 

It’s dark, there’s no way in hell they’re getting to Denver today, and they’re somewhere in the middle of Bumfuck Nowhere, Colorado.

Yeah. Roadtrip. Good idea.

  


It’s too late at night to drive on unfamiliar roads for much longer, and Thor’s beginning to yawn. Thor makes a smart executive decision and pulls the car in at the first roadside motel he sees, this one being a stark, square building off the road in a ‘town’ called Parachute.

‘Town’ barely describes it. It is _tiny._

 

Brunnhilde stirs at the sudden stop. She blinks, sleepily. “What’s goin’ on?”

 

“We’re stopping for the night.”

 

“I can pay.” She says, then seems to reconsider. “I mean, I can pay some. My share. Yeah.”

 

“Good.” Though he definitely would have offered if she couldn’t - he still didn’t know what had happened to her, and it was obvious that she had been running from something bad - it’s good not to have to dip too far into his savings. “Kick Loki awake, would you?”

 

“Eh, emo hair? Up and at ‘em.” She pokes Loki on the knee.

He doesn’t stir.

 

Thor laughs. ‘Emo hair’ isn’t the best insult he’s heard for Loki, but it’s fitting. “Believe it or not, I’m actually the odd one out in our family. Our sister, Hela - I know, the naming thing _again_ \- is as gothic as he is. You’re probably going to have to actually kick him though. He sleeps pretty deep.”

 

“You really want me to kick your brother awake?” Brunnhilde raises a skeptical eyebrow. “Truly?”

 

“Yeah, I love him but he’s an ass. Go for it.”

 

“Mmm, your funeral.” Brunnhilde replies, but kicks Loki in the shin, anyway.

 

Loki, much to his credit, springs awake. “What. The Fuck. Where are we? Why does my leg hurt? What have you done, brother?”

 

Thor is actually a little hurt by that, if he’s honest. He’s not always the person who causes trouble. That’s usually Loki’s job. “We are stopping. Do you want to sleep in a bed or in the backseat all night?”

 

“Where are we?”

 

“A tiny town in Colorado. It really doesn’t matter. Can you pay for the motel?”

 

Loki narrows his eyes. It’s barely visible in the dark. “Will you pay me back?”

 

“Yes.”

 

“When?”

 

Brunnhilde sighs. “Give me your bank details and both he and I will pay you back tonight. Capische?”

 

Loki looks like he wants to argue, but thinks better of it. “Fine. Let’s go. If you forget to lock Jeff’s car, you’re paying for the damages, brother.”

 

“Whatever.” Thor doesn’t really care. He just wants to go to bed.

  


The interior of the motel is tacky. Lights that look like they’ve not been updated since the 70s cast a greasy glow over the place. Everywhere he looks is formica. It’s gross.

The young man behind the reception desk is snoring slightly. He’s brunette, skinny, and he looks like he could very well still be in high school.

 

Thor, because he’s still able to be civil even when he’s utterly exhausted, knocks on the reception desk and asks, “hello? Excuse me?”

 

“There’s no need to be so polite.” Loki says, with a frown, “He’s sleeping on the job.”

 

“Yes, well, I’m not an asshole, am I?” Thor hisses, and touches the man gently on the hand.

 

This is apparently all he needed.

The man wakes, brown eyes glazed over as he stares at them. He looks thoroughly exhausted too. “Hello? Um, hey?”  


“We’d like to get a room?” Thor replies, as gently as he can. He’s not going to cuss out some kid just because he’s been sleeping on the job. Thor’s worked front of house over holidays. He knows what it’s like. “Or… uh, multiple rooms?”

 

“Oh!” The man’s eyes widen. “Rooms. Yeah. Sorry, I just forgot where I was for a minute. I don’t usually do this - usually Ned does this cause he’s way better at talking to people, and I just sit out the back and help with cleaning and fixing things, but Ned’s got gastro so I’m-”

 

“Kid.” Brunnhilde interrupts. “Some rooms, yeah?”

 

“Sorry. Sorry.” The man knocks his mug off the table with all his mad flailing and winces as it crashes onto the ground. “I’ll deal with that later. Welcome to the Parachute Roadside Motel and Bar. We’re the safest place to land. I’m Peter. How can I help you?”

It’s obvious that the speech has been heavily rehearsed, yet he manages to stumble over half of the words anyway.

 

“Rooms. Two, preferably?” Thor asks. “Single beds? There’s three of us.”

 

Loki’s skulking in the corner against the wall, looking irritated, but that’s just him, really.

 

“Hmmmm…” Peter taps wildly at the computer keyboard behind the desk. “Rooms… You all know it’s holiday season, right? Why are you travelling now? The roads have got to be hellish.”

 

“They were.” Thor replies, leaning his elbows on the formica desk because there’s nothing else to do.

He immediately regrets it.

_Why_ is everything in this place so greasy? Where’s the grease coming from? Something’s got to be exuding it, but what?

 

“Well, I’ve got no single beds left. None in the entire building. I could get you a room with two doubles? But… two of you’d have to share.” Peter looks genuinely contrite, too, which is more emotions than Thor could ever conjure up so quickly after waking up.

 

Now, personally, he’s got no problem with sharing, but his brother….?

 

Loki hmphs, pushes himself off the wall and strides towards the reception desk. “We will have it. I presume that this backwater little hamlet takes cards?”

 

“Yes - uh, of course, sir.” Peter stammers, and puts the booking through.

 

After he hands them their key, he tells them about the unlimited free wifi, “It’s slow, but it’s endless. Password’s ‘spiders’,” and about the breakfast buffet that’s served downstairs between 6am and 9am.

Thor is very interested in the breakfast buffet. Thor loves a pancake.

 

“Have a good evening sirs - and, uh, miss!” Peter yells from behind them, as they head up a long, hideously-wallpapered corridor. “If you- uh, - need anything later, don’t hesitate to call?”

The poor kid would probably have a hernia if they did actually need anything. Some people just aren’t cut out for customer service.

  


The rooms aren’t nice.

They’re not even slightly nice.

But they’ll do.

 

“If you elbow me during the night, brother, I will kick you onto the floor.” Loki threatens, as he sorts through his bag.

 

“If _you_ elbow _me_ during the night I will fight you in the parking lot.” Thor replies, blase as all hell, because this is normal for them. If he’s honest, he’s actually kinda missed it.

 

“You two sure love each other, eh?” Brunnhilde is lucky. She gets one of the beds all to herself.

 

“Oh, I love him.” Thor remarks, and ditches his hoodie on the floor. “I just also want to fight him in the parking lot.”

 

“Likewise.” Loki grunts, and disappears into the bathroom, toothbrush in hand.

 

Brunnhilde settles on her bed, and watches Loki go. “You’re both weirdly comfortable with this.”

 

“He was unemployed for three months a few years ago.” Thor explains, because really, it’s easier to get it all out in the open. He’s had time to be weird about this sort of thing, and on the endless road to his father’s funeral is not the right place to make it weird again. “He bunked with me. Refused to sleep on my couch, because that’s the kind of man he is, so we shared a bed. I’ve gotten over it.”

 

“You cannot even _imagine_ how terrible that couch was.” Loki yells, from the bathroom. His voice is muffled, but the words are still fairly comprehensible. “All springs. I made him give it to Goodwill.”

 

Thor shrugs. “What can you do? I got over the weirdness _several_ years ago. I just wish he had less bony elbows.”

 

“I wish you had a less punchable face!” Loki, again.

 

“Good retort, brother, I’ve only heard that one five times before.”

 

Brunnhilde holds up her hands. “Nope. Nope. Thanks for picking me up today, but I’m not going to be part of this. I’m going to bed. If you two start arguing in the middle of the night I will kick _both_ of your asses.”

 

He somehow doesn’t doubt it. “Night, Brunnhilde.”

[ ](https://www.flickr.com/photos/143259957@N04/43661476972/in/dateposted-public/)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this story is not written by an American. I do not understand y'all and your roads.


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Things take a turn.

_Thursday, 6am._

 

Thor sleeps fitfully, tossing and turning. He doesn’t know why he can’t sleep, but it might be something to do with the whole ‘being jammed in a single bed with his lanky younger brother’ thing.

He wakes at 5.30 with an elbow to the face and doesn’t hesitate to shove Loki right back.

 

Loki just keeps on snoring.

_Ass._

 

Whelp. Thor can sleep in the car. He levers himself out of bed, showers, and then goes on the hunt for pancakes. They’ve got to leave soon and Loki’s a crabby bitch without coffee first thing in the morning.

The pancakes are fine. As the breakfast buffet is crowded (at _six thirty in the morning_ \- ridiculous) he takes his plate and his coffee out to eat on the balcony.

It’s a cool, crisp morning. He has an unobstructed view of cars travelling along the interstate on one side, and loose scrubland to the other - though it is still quite dark out so he can’t see as far as he’d like.

Things could be worse.

  


Which is, of course, when more bullshit begins to happen.

 

As Thor makes his way through the huge stack of pancakes - they might not taste amazing, but he’s not going to turn down free food - he notices a commotion from the interstate. Two cars screech to a halt, their lights wavering on the road, and a figure rushes between them.

 

There’s some beeping, some yelling, but the figure continues running.

Running towards him.

The _fuck?_

 

It’s the sort of situation where Thor should probably move - should probably make the effort to go inside at least - but it’s six thirty in the morning and the coffee’s not kicked in yet.

 

He doesn’t move.

He just watches.

 

The figure comes into focus slowly. He’s rumpled, hair and clothes entirely out of place, and he looked panicked. Really panicked.

Thor’s not seen such a look of panic since… well… yesterday. On Brunnhilde.

 

The man staggers to a stop a meter or so from him. “Are those- are those- pancakes?” He gasps, totally out of breath, and stumbles forward to put his hands on the railing around the balcony.

 

Now that the man is closer, Thor can see that there’s twinges of grey to the curls in his hair. And… that’s blood. That’s definitely blood, stained into his clothes.

 

For the love of… all the gods. Seriously?

 

Thor really should go inside. It’d be the wise thing to do.

Thor is very rarely wise. “Yeah. They’re pancakes. Are you okay?”

 

“Can I have some?” The man has the decency to look a bit sheepish as he asks. “I’ve not- I’ve just not had… real food in _so long._ ”

 

Okay. Wow. This is too much. The guy is obviously gone in the head or something. He’s - weird. “I’ll just… go. You can have these ones.”

 

“No- don’t go.” The man reaches past the railing - as though to reach for Thor himself. “I know I’m a mess. I’m sorry. I’m not crazy. I have seven PhDs for the love of- I- I just- fuck. I’m- you really wouldn’t understand.”

 

“Having seven PhDs sounds pretty crazy.” Because, really, Thor’s only trying to get _one_ and he’s losing his mind.

 

“Ha.” The man laughs, and he seems weirdly surprised at the sound. “What? I’ve not- in so _long._ Can I sit?”

 

Thor thinks it over for a moment. Look, he’s not _heartless._ The guy seems like he’s in distress and he could easily take him if he turned on him. It’s _Christmas._ “If you promise not to kill me and abandon my body in this parking lot, then you can even have some of these pancakes.”

 

The man laughs again, but this time it’s darker, even heavier. There’s wetness in his voice too. It sounds like he’s on the verge of tears. “That’s… really kind of you.”

 

“I aim to please.”

  


The man’s name is Bruce. He seems dizzy, confused, and he’s stumbling over his words more than any human should. It’s the trademark signs of a concussion, and Thor doesn’t need his (almost) PhD to tell him that.

 

The man needs a doctor (one that can legally administer drugs, that is).

The man is _adamantly_ refusing to go to a doctor.

 

“I need to get out of here.” Bruce says, and it’s tinged with an edge of desperation, too.

 

The whole thing is sending off massive red flags in Thor’s head, but he can’t say no. There’s just something about the man in front of him that screams ‘trustworthy’.

Despite the blood. Thor’s not yet asked about the blood.

 

“Where do you need to go?”

 

“I’ve got- a friend in New York? He’d be able to help. Maybe.” Bruce looks up at him imploringly, through his eyelashes. He’s got nice brown eyes.

Thor shouldn’t be thinking about his nice brown eyes.

For all he knows, this guy’s a murderer. “You want to go to New York? Look - why can’t you make it there yourself? Who are you running from?”

 

Bruce furrows his lower lip with his teeth for a moment and looks away. “What would you say, hypothetically, if I told you that this government is taking hypothetical intelligent people without any close friends or family and using them to hypothetically create illegal chemical warfare?”

 

Fuck.

 

What?

 

The thing is, Thor’s good at picking up on lies. It’s a habit he’s learned from his brother, because his brother does nothing _but_ lie.

 

Thor’s pretty sure Bruce isn’t lying. Or at least, he _believes_ he isn’t lying.

That’s the scariest part of it all.

 

Fuck.

 

He should have braved Loki’s elbows and stayed in bed.

 

“I would say, hypothetically, that that sounds like a load of shit.” Thor pauses, but he can’t leave Bruce hanging. “But I would also say, hypothetically, that I wouldn’t put it past this administration at all.”

 

Bruce’s eyes widen. He looks up from the pancakes, eyes reddening. It seems to take him a moment to collect himself. Swallowing, he gasps, “You believe me? You’ll help me?”

 

He doesn’t know what he believes. He doesn’t know whether Loki will let them take in another stray, whether Bruce will just be a maniac, whether he’s just dreaming this ridiculous trip.

But he does know where he’s heading.

 

“I’ll help you get to New York.”  


[ ](https://www.flickr.com/photos/143259957@N04/28818561267/in/dateposted-public/)


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> We meet some more familiar friends.

_Thursday, 8am._

 

Loki, predictably, isn’t happy.

“Are you just going to keep on picking up strays?” He asks, though it’s not really a question, and shoves a shirt into his bag with some vehemence.

 

“They’re not… _strays._ ” Thor hisses, because he’s got at least a modicum of decency left in him. “They’re people. Who need help.”

 

“That man…? He doesn't seem like he needs help. He seems like he needs a fast trip to a psychiatric ward.”

 

“You’ve spent _time_ in a psychiatric hospital, Loki, you have absolutely no right to judge. And also, I don’t think he’s crazy. He doesn’t sound crazy.”

 

“Is that your professional medical opinion?” Loki asks, and zips his bag shut. He still doesn’t look happy.

 

Thor sighs. “For the love of - Loki! He wants to go to New York, we’re going to New York. He doesn’t have any money… but - just - come on! Don’t be heartless.”

 

Loki drops his bag back down and stares at him, right in the eyes. The look goes on for so long that it makes Thor twitch a bit. “I’m not. Being heartless. You and I - we’re going to a funeral. For your- for _our_ father. This isn’t some kind of road film. Shouldn’t you be grieving?”

 

“Shouldn’t you?” Thor retorts, quickly, too-quickly, because Loki’s right.

 

If they had any sense they’d be rushing the trip.

Get to New York quicker, get to mom quicker -

They probably shouldn’t be picking up strays.

But it’s too late for that now.

 

“I’m not saying that we should abandon them on the side of the road.” Loki says, almost-gently, “But we can’t afford to take anyone else. No-one. Do you understand, brother?”

 

He does. Of course he does.

 

“Good.” Loki nods, and takes his bag out to the car.

  


The gasp Brunnhilde gives when she first meets Bruce is horrifying.

“Sorry-” She stammers, eyes wide and weary in the early morning light, but then takes in a breath and moves past it. “I just- you look like someone I knew. Well. Weird, huh?”

 

“Yeah. Weird.” Bruce says, slowly, and then offers her a hand. “I’m Bruce Banner. I- You look- never mind.”

 

“Great.” She pats him on the hand. “Brunnhilde. Guess we’re sharing the backseat?”

 

“I guess so…” Bruce replies, and leaves it at that.

  


The whole situation is very weird. Thor’s not an idiot - no matter how many times Loki tries to make him seem like one - and there’s something about it all that just doesn’t add up. It doesn’t seem _wrong,_ exactly, but _off._ There’s something off about the pair.

He just can’t quite figure out what.

  


“Want a Redvine?” Brunnhilde asks.

 

In the rearview mirror, Thor can just see that she’s holding one out to Bruce.

 

The older man is staring at it with something akin to wonder. “Yeah. I- yeah.” He takes it, and moves it back and forth, like he’s not seen something like it in a long time. “I’ve not had one of these for a _while.”_

 

“I know the feeling, big guy.”

  


WEIRD. Weird weird weird weird weird.

This is so unbelievably weird.

 

* * *

They reach Denver at midday. The interstate is damp, edged with a faint layer of snow, and the car skids more than once on their way through the city.

Loki’s not exactly used to driving in snow.

Perils of living in California, or something.

 

Loki stops the car at a layby on the edge of a tiny town called Roggen and trudges inside, muttering something about finding ‘snow chains’. He doesn’t sound very happy.

 

“Want anything?” Thor asks, because he really needs to pee, and he’s also out of candy.

 

Bruce and Brunnhilde, who at this point are getting on like a house on fire, confer quietly for a moment.

Thor genuinely feels a little left out. It’s a bit like third-wheeling, except he’s not sure why he’s so attached to two people he’s known for less than twenty-four hours.

 

“Peanut M&Ms? And some beef jerky? Please?” Bruce asks, and blinks innocently at him.

 

He doesn’t think he can say no to those eyes. However, the doctor inside him has other ideas. “Is there anything that you want that constitutes _actual_ food?”

 

“...I could go for an apple or two?” Brunnhilde asks.

 

That hardly constitutes real food, but Thor’s not going to complain. “Okay.” He moves to get out of the car, but is stopped by Bruce’s hand on his shoulder.

 

“I have money - I can pay.” Bruce says, and pulls a crumpled handful of bills out of his pocket. They’re all one-hundreds.

Some of them look like they have blood on them.

 

“I’m good.” Thor shakes off the hand. He doesn’t need to get himself into anything that could be potentially illegal. Not again. “You can buy me dinner when you get out of your bad situation, eh?”

 

Bruce looks down, blush colouring his cheeks, and Thor realises _exactly_ what he just said. Whelp. No going back. Provided Bruce isn’t actually a murderer or anything, he wouldn’t say no.

 

“I’d… like that.” Bruce says, almost under his breath.

 

Yeah, it’s about time that Thor leaves this situation. Too weird. Too, too weird. “Great. Awesome.”

Fuck. He really needs to stop talking.

 

* * *

 

The gas station is horribly dusty, but Thor manages to find all the things he’s looking for jammed into cramped corners of the place. He bends down to pick a couple of cans of lemon-flavoured ice tea from the bottom shelf in a fridge, and nearly stumbles right back _into_ the fridge when he stands back up and comes face-to-face with another man standing inches from his face.

“Um-” Thor stammers, because he’s so surprised. “Do you mind?”

 

“ _Do_ I mind?” The other man grazes a hand over the grey hairs at the edge of his chin. “Not really! You are beautiful, by the way, just thought I’d point that out - but I’m not standing here to hit on you, really, I actually just want to get some tea.”

 

Oh jesus, he’s a Kiwi.

And he’s got the exact same chaotic energy as Loki’s boyfriend/sugar daddy/enabler.

Fuck.

 

“Uh- yeah- sure-” Thor’s still a little off-balance, rightly so, surely, but he moves out of the way and lets the other man get a couple of cans of green tea.

 

“I’m Korg.” The man gingerly balances the tea in one hand and holds out the other to shake. He’s got a wide-open, earnest face, with grey curls that just tickle the edges of his scalp. If Thor wasn’t grieving, he’d probably be quite attractive. “Sorry. I might seem a bit weird right now, but my ride bailed on me so I’m just stuck in the middle of fuck-knows nowhere until I can bum a ride back to civilisation. You feel, bro?”

 

Thor gingerly takes his hand and shakes it. He’s not even going to comment on the _name thing_. “Yeah. I’m Thor. Where are you trying to get to?”

 

“New York.”

 

Of _fucking_ course. Before he even has a chance to regret it, he says, “I’m going to New York and I have a spare seat. Want a ride?”

 

“A ride?” Korg leers at him for a second, but there’s really no heat in it. “The prettiest man in this town is asking me if I want a ride? You think I’d say no?”

 

Thor isn’t _pretty._ Thor’s _handsome._ Super manly. Etcetera. “You’ve got to pay for gas if you do come.”

 

“Oh yeah, no probs, bro. Not an issue. Actually - just - you might want to see something first…” Korg reaches for the zipper on his jacket and begins to pull it down.

 

Thor, feeling slightly hysterical - and that’s only because of the weird day he’s had - prays that he’s not being seduced. It’s not like he’d be opposed… but they are in _public_ and he’s known the man in front of him for thirty seconds _._

 

Thankfully, it’s not a seduction.

 

It’s the head. Of a dog.

A tiny chocolate-brown pitbull puppy pokes its head out of the top of the jacket and sniffs wildly at the air.

 

Holy shit.

Thor suddenly doesn’t give _any_ kind of a damn about what Loki is going to think about this. Holy shit. This is the best day. “Can I pat her?”

 

“Him.” Korg replies, “But yeah. Totally. Miek loves people.”

 

Thor might be a little bit in love.

  


The screaming row that Thor has with his brother when they both get back to the car is almost worth it, just for the dog.

[](https://www.flickr.com/photos/143259957@N04/41899031840/in/dateposted-public/) 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> exciting news, you can follow this roadtrip virtually! (here's hoping the link actually works for y'all this time around). [ here ](https://www.google.com/maps/d/u/0/viewer?mid=1lCLKe6_COd9tHgxryslKv21ofKZ2gD0X&ll=37.17009734225069%2C-111.308715&z=6)


	7. Chapter 7

Thursday, 1pm

 

“It’s Thursday afternoon.” Loki announces, once they’ve all piled back into the car. “We’ve got just over two days until the funeral. Google Maps says it’ll take us 26 hours to get there, and that’s if we drive non-stop. No more stopping, no more sidetracking. Okay?”

It’s presumably directed mainly at Thor.

 

Bruce, Brunnhilde and Korg are sitting in the back, swigging cans of tea and sharing sweets like they don’t have a care in the world.

 

That must be nice.

 

“Okay.” Thor shrugs. He doesn’t have any desire to stop. He’s not looking _forward_ to the funeral, not exactly, but it feels like a completion. It feels like an ending.

 

He’s going to cry and cry and he doesn’t even really know why.

It’s not like Odin was ever a very good dad - but Thor knows he’s going to cry regardless.

What a mess.

 

It’s pitch-black outside by 6pm. It’s the sort of situation where Thor really wouldn’t be driving - but necessity and needs-must means that Loki’s napping in the backseat with Brunnhilde, Miek and Korg wrapped up in some sort of pile next to him, and Bruce is riding shotgun.

 

The road isn’t exactly empty, but it’s not full either. Headlights pass over the car, intermittently, breaking the stillness.

It’s eerie, almost, like something out of a dream.

 

From beside him, Bruce stirs. They’ve all been sleeping a lot on this journey - there’s something in Thor’s ‘nearly a trained physician’ brain that’s telling him that that’s not a great sign, but he can’t quite focus on why.

 

Bruce yawns and stretches, blinking furiously on the road ahead of them. “Where are we?”

 

“I think the last city we passed through was Lincoln? I do not know. All I’m doing is following this thing.” Thor gestures at his phone, which is plugged into the cigarette lighter and casting a dim-bright Google Maps image all over the dashboard.

 

“Are you tired?” Bruce asks, and rubs his eyes. “I can drive. If you want. I think.”

 

The hesitance in his speech is horrifying, so Thor brushes the offer off. “It’s fine. Besides, if my brother woke up and saw someone else driving his partner’s car he’d probably stab me. Again.”

 

“...Again?” A variety of emotions pass over Bruce’s face in a couple of seconds, but he wisely doesn’t push it. “I’m not even going to ask.”

 

“Probably for the best.”

 

They pass through another tiny town in the silence.

 

“Your roads are so _weird._ I’ve lived here for years and they’re still so weird. There’s just so much nothingness. It’s weird.”

 

Bruce looks over at him, and blinks. “‘My’ roads? I thought you said you were from LA.”

 

“Well, kind of.” It’s a really long story, but Thor condenses it down as much as possible. “My family travelled a lot when Loki, Hela and I were young, because of our father’s job. We spent time in Europe, Australia, Russia - when I became of-age we got so tired of it that Loki and I settled down in LA.”

 

“I was wondering why your accents were so all over the place.”

 

“We spent a year in London and Loki liked the accent so much he just never got rid of it. Dramatic bitch.”

 

Bruce snorts a laugh. “I really appreciate you letting me come with you, by the way. I just - I was in a lot of trouble and - it was good to get out and see a friendly face, you know?”

 

_Get out?_ Get out of where? He wants to ask - wants to _know,_ but he can’t quite find the words to ask subtly. There’s something… off… about Bruce, Brunnhilde and Korg, but he just don’t know what. So he doesn’t ask. “It’s not a problem. If I was just stuck in this car with Loki I would have lost my mind by now. You four add some variety.”

 

“Even so.” Bruce smiles sweetly at him and squeezes him gently on the shoulder. “It was very kind.”

 

Yeah, he supposes it was, but he still can’t shake the feeling that something about this is off. _Seriously_ off.

 

Thor gives up at about midnight. It’s too late, he’s on the verge of passing out from tiredness, and everyone else in the car is snoring. He stops at a Super 8 motel in some small town in Illinois, drags himself out of the car and manages to book a room with two queen beds. They’re going to have to share again.

Considering the way that Brunnhilde, Korg and Bruce have been getting on like a house on fire, he’s sure they won’t mind.

Loki, probably, less so.

The motel’s just going to have to deal with Miek. If Thor drives any further he’s at risk of crashing the car, and that’d just piss Loki off even more.

 

Brunnhilde, Korg and Bruce take a bed. He is left to contend with Loki’s elbows.

 

Thor wakes at 2.34am, cold and shivering, to find that Loki’s stolen all of the covers. He moves to pull them back when he notices that the other bed is empty, aside from Miek, who’s snuggled into a pile of blankets.

Tiredness makes him curious.

 

To lose one stowaway seems like an accident.

To lose three seems like carelessness.

 

There’s clothing still strewn across their side of the room, so it’s not like they’ve all done a runner. Plus, Thor’s sure that Korg would never leave his dog.

 

He gets out of bed, feet bare on the cool floor, and pulls on a hoodie. Venturing out into the hallway, he doesn’t get very far down the corridor when he hears arguing coming from the hotel’s moldy tv room.

 

“Eh, auntie*, I feel bad about it.” It’s Korg, sounding like he’s trying to be quiet, but failing miserably. “They’ve been real good to us and we shouldn’t be keeping ‘em in the dark.”

 

Thor doesn’t quite understand Kiwi slang, but he’s pretty sure that Korg doesn’t mean ‘auntie’ in the way that most people would mean ‘aunt’. Also, ‘keeping them in the dark’ - does he mean him and Loki? He moves closer, trying his hardest to be quiet.

 

“Do you really want to drag them into this mess?” Brunnhilde sounds frustrated. She’s pacing, too, by the sound of it. “They seem like good men. We don’t need to give them more to worry about.”

 

Mess? What mess?

Thor _knew_ there was something off about all of them.

 

“Any word from the others, big guy?” Brunnhilde asks. There’s tiredness in her voice too. It’s exhaustion, almost bone-deep.

 

“Nothing.” Bruce sighs. “If I’m truly honest, I’m surprised we found you two. I didn’t know if you’d made it out.”

 

“We cut it pretty fine.” Brunnhilde coughs, just for a moment. “Wow. Do you feel as bad as I do?”

 

“Worse.” This time it’s Korg that answers. “My skin’s all tight and weird. Feels like rocks or pebbles or something. How long do you think we have, Brucie?”

 

“Don’t call me that.” Bruce snaps, but quickly seems to soften. “Look. I don’t know. I didn’t - that compound - it was unstable. Probably two days? Three? We’ve got to get to Tony before we succumb to it.”

 

“Shit, bro.” Korg sniffs. “This whole thing’s a mess.”

 

“You have a real knack of pointing out the obvious.” Bruce sighs again. “Look. I’m tired. Can we just get some sleep before the others wake up?”

 

“Sounds like a plan.” Brunnhilde says. “Let’s go.”

 

Shit. Shit. That’s Thor’s cue.

 

Padding as quickly as he can back down the corridor, he ducks back into their room and slips back into bed, heart thundering in his head, just before he hears the outer door open again.

 

What the fuck?

Escaping? A mystery sickness? Tony?

What the fuck?

 

Even when the mysterious trio arrive back into the room, Thor doesn’t get much sleep that night.

What the fuck is going on?

 

[ ](https://www.flickr.com/photos/143259957@N04/30554262548/in/dateposted-public/)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *'auntie' in kiwi slang usually doesn't mean your aunt - usually it's just like a woman, often a family friend or someone you know decently well, who you're close to. it's usually men who say it and it's sort of a positive colloquial term.


	8. Chapter 8

_ Friday, 5am _

 

Thor doesn’t tell Loki.

 

It’s not one of his brightest ideas, but really, he has no idea what to say.

His brother, ever the realist - despite his esoteric clothing choices and occupation - would just tell him he was dreaming. He’s certainly done that before.

 

Brunnhilde, Korg and Bruce show no signs of their ailments in the morning. They’re more awake than he is, truth be told.

They even manage to travel for seven straight hours with no interruptions (aside from a bathroom break). 

However, everything goes to shit once they hit Pennsylvania.

  
  


Loki slows the car to a near halt behind a huge row of traffic near Barkeyville, Pennsylvania. By this point, the sun’s high in the sky, it’s just after midday, and it feels like it’s nearly time for a lunch break. 

 

“What’s going on ahead?” He mutters, and then gestures for Thor’s phone. “Brother, tell me what’s happening up there.”

 

Thor does some Googling, dutifully, and has barely typed in ‘Barkey’ when Google politely informs him that there’s been a seven car pileup and both sides of the highway have traffic backed up for nearly 50 miles.

 

Loki, upon hearing that, lets loose a tirade of swearing that’s almost unlike anything Thor’s ever heard from him before.

(Thor  _ was  _ around for the Hamilton fiasco of 2017, though, and it’s not as bad as that.)

 

“There’s a diversion just up the road?” Thor says, upon even more Googling. “Like 17 miles? It’s probably faster than just waiting around for the road to clear.”

 

“Or we could - just - wait for the road. To clear. Take a break. You know.” Bruce says, and the entirely guilty way he says it - the man has  _ no  _ poker face, Thor’s realised - makes Thor want to take the diversion even more.

 

Loki sighs. “Fine. We’ll divert. No more distractions.”

 

Which is a fine idea, in theory, but the road between Franklin and Corsica is closed for refurbishment. The next road up, between Woodland Heights and Wolfs Corner, is blocked by trees. The final road that heads East, between Tionesta and Wolfs Corner, is thoroughly blocked by snow. 

 

Which leaves them staring down the barrel of a dark road, leading into an equally dark and gloomy forest.

 

They’re still on a main road, apparently, but the forest leaves a lot to be desired. 

“Pass me the phone.” Loki demands, and holds his hand out like he’s expecting it. 

 

Thor gives it to him, because he really doesn’t have any other choice.

 

In the backseat, the others are quiet. Even Miek isn’t snuffling any more - but he’s not asleep, just wide-eyed.

They don’t look well. 

 

“Road 666.” Loki says, and chuckles to himself, seemingly not noticing the carnage in the backseat. “Well. That’s an omen. Let’s go.”

 

“You’re sure you want to do that, bro?” Korg pipes up, sounding worried. It’s the first time in the entire trip that he’s seemed out of sorts. “We could just. Wait. Go the other way.”

 

“We can’t just  _ wait! _ ” Loki is almost incensed now, in a way that seems excessive considering the circumstances. “You are just a guest in this car - you have no idea what my brother and I are going through right now. We have to  _ be  _ somewhere by tomorrow morning.”

 

“Yes, you’re grieving, we all understand that.” Brunnhilde pipes up. She sounds like she’s trying to calm Loki down, which never ends well. “But I really wouldn’t recommend travelling this way.”

 

“I don’t like backseat drivers.” Loki says, and tosses Thor back his phone.

Then he guns the engine - well, as much as you can gun an engine on a Honda Odyssey - and they make their way into the forest.

  
  


They’re quickly lost. 

 

There’s no cell phone signal in the woods - Loki seems to only be driving with the aid of some sort of maniacal spiritual energy to guide him - and it’s darker outside than it probably should be.

 

Thor looks across the river they’re driving alongside and is sure he sees something running alongside the car,  bright red eyes glowing brilliantly in the dusk.

But then he blinks and it’s gone.

 

Absently, he knows there was probably nothing there, knows that it was probably just his eyes playing tricks on him, but it unnerves him all the same. There’s something about this forest that makes the hair stand up on the back of his neck and raise goosebumps on his arms.

 

He doesn’t like it.

 

They come to a bridge after not too long in the forest. 

Then again, it could be forever, or could only be minutes.

 

Thor cannot tell.

 

This bridge is long, wooden, and painted bizarrely enough - rainbow. It looks like a deathtrap.

It hardly even has  _ railings. _

 

“Just cross this bridge and we’ll be out of the forest, brother!” Loki says cheerily, too cheerily, and Thor’s not even sure if this isn’t just some kind of bizarre sugar dream because nothing makes sense any more.

 

“No.” He says, with some ferocity, surprising even himself. “We won’t. Turn the car around.”

 

“No.”

 

“No?” Thor asks, incredulous. “Just look at that thing. It’s a death trap. We backtrack. Mother will understand.”

 

“It’s not Mother that I’m worried about.” 

 

Loki inches the car onto the bridge and Thor’s powerless to stop him. It’s like he can’t move - like he’s glued to the seat and all he can do is watch. From the backseat, he’s sure he can hear anguish. Cries, horror, something like that, but he can’t seem to turn his head.

 

It’s a terrible idea.

 

The bridge seems to creak beneath them, but without making any noise. Everything’s moving too slowly and too quickly all at once - time seeming to flicker back and forth at its own will.

 

Boards fall away from the path in front of them, and Thor wants to yell for them to stop, to push back or move forward or something - but it’s too late to even think it as a chasm opens up in front of the car.

 

And they’re falling.

 

They’re falling.

 

They’re dropping.

 

The river below is all inky blackness and white crested rapids and it’s too close - they’re too close - the river is too close -

 

The last thing Thor feels before impact is Bruce, clutching tightly onto his shoulder with his nails digging in.

 

Then, 

 

All is silence. 

[ ](https://www.flickr.com/photos/143259957@N04/43580734415/in/dateposted-public/)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have been waiting MONTHS to use that photo, you have no idea.


	9. Chapter 9

The ceiling is white. 

 

Thor’s head is fuzzy in a way that it usually isn’t. He’s usually more clear-headed - more competent. This feels like he’s just pulled an overnighter and been on a bender, all at the same time. 

Everything aches, but it’s a dull ache.

 

He knows this feeling. He’s on painkillers, or opioids. Something of the sort. 

  
  


It takes him a few minutes to sit up, and he scrabbles for his chart when he does, but can’t quite reach it. It’s frustrating, because if he knew what the problem was, he’d know when he’d be able to get out of the hospital.

 

Speaking of -

 

The hospital?

 

Everything comes flooding back, all of a sudden.

The road trip, the funeral, the forest - 

How’d he end up here?

  
  


The restraints are a shock.

His ankles are tied down to the bed with fabric cuffs. What the  _ fuck. _

 

It’s an outdated practise - no-one would do that unless he was really sick, or really delirious and he doesn’t  _ feel  _ really sick. 

Or really delirious.

 

What the fuck?

 

“Hello?” He yells, voice dry with underuse. “Is anyone here?”

 

There’s no sound for a moment, just the beeping of the heart-rate monitor and the anxious thud of his own heart.

 

“HELLO?”

  
  


A matronly older woman comes walking in, dressed all in white. She looks rather taken-aback by his yelling and tries to shush him almost immediately. “Mr Odinson, there are other patients in this ward! Do keep the noise down.”

 

“Where am I? What day is it?” He demands. He’d probably try harder to mind his tongue, but he’s disoriented and been drugged with gods know what. 

 

“You’re in Monterey Park Hospital in Los Angeles, Mr Odinson. It is Wednesday the 19th of December, 2018. Your brother found you unconscious from exhaustion in your apartment and brought you into the clinic.” 

 

Exhaustion? Wednesday? Los Angeles? No - there’s no way. Did he -  _ imagine  _ the whole road trip? “Loki’s here?”

 

“I believe he stepped out to sleep.” She says, laying a hand on his forehead and checking his temperature. “It is the middle of the night, after all.” 

 

She gestures towards the window with her other hand, and it  _ is  _ dark outside. The clock on the bedside table reads  _ 3:03am.  _

How had he missed that?

 

“Why am I in hospital?” 

 

“Exhaustion, like I said.” Concern mars her strong features. “You were thoroughly dehydrated and delirious when you were brought in.”

 

“Then why am I restrained?”

 

“Mr Odinson, you are not a small man.” She snaps, and pulls her hand back from his forehead. “You were delirious, running a fever - you still are, by the way - and muttering nonsense in your sleep about roadtrips and funerals and pitbulls. We thought it was best.”

 

“Then can you let me out now?”

 

“I can’t do that without the approval of a doctor, and none of our doctors are in until the morning.”

 

Something about this whole situation seems…  _ fishy.  _ The restraints, the forced politeness - Thor’s worked long enough in the medical profession to see that something’s off. “Fine. Okay. I’ll tolerate that. Can I see my chart? I’m a physician. Nearly.”

 

“Absolutely not.” 

 

“But-”

 

“No.”

 

“Please.” He says, thinking of something, anything, that’ll get the nurse to do what he wants. This is scary, now. It’s worrying. He needs to get out. “I have a lot of allergies to a lot of medications. I need to see what you’ve given me.”

 

“We’ve not given you anything other than Tylenol for the fever and isotonic fluids to treat the dehydration. You really should take better care of yourself, Mr Odinson.”

She smiles gently at him.

 

It doesn’t help. There’s something darker behind her eyes, and really, a lot of these things sound like bullshit.

He  _ knows  _ he’s on something stronger than Tylenol. He can feel it in his head and his bones. Everything’s too fuzzy for an over-the-counter pain medication. 

 

Why are they lying to him?

 

He can’t have dreamt the road trip.

Not Brunnhilde, with her wild eyes and ferocity, not kind, slightly-snarky Bruce, not Korg and Miek - there’s no way his brain was creative enough to dream them up.

Then what’s going on?

 

“I can feel the painkillers.” He insists, knowing he sounds crazy, but saying it anyway, “Please. Just tell me what’s wrong with me.”

 

“You’re just tired.” The nurse says, and grasps him gently on the shoulder, right where Bruce did last. “Go back to sleep, Mr Odinson. It’ll be better in the morning.” 

 

And his eyelids are getting heavy, so maybe he should. 

 

Maybe it’d be easier.

To forget.

 

Through the blur of his half-closed eyelids, he can just see the nurse straighten his bedcovers and walk out of the room.

 

He should call. He should stay awake.

There’s something terribly wrong here.

But he can’t.

 

“Help me. Someone. Anyone?” He gasps, words stuck in his throat, just as darkness comes to claim him.

 

There’s no reply.


	10. Chapter 10

When he wakes again the room is bright.

It’s quieter than a grave, and he’s still restrained.

 

The only difference is the pain. The painkillers have definitely made their way through his system, and everything aches. He doesn’t think anything is broken - at least, he hopes not - but a lot of everythings certainly do hurt.

 

It feels like  _ weeks _ he’s been in this bed, weeks he’s been restrained, though he knows that that’s surely not the case.

 

“Hello?” He yells again, his voice crackly and weak.

There’s no reply.

 

He yells for a while - it could be hours, it could be days, he has no way of knowing - but there’s no reply. The restraints don’t loosen, either, in fact, they seem to get tighter.

 

It’s the sort of tense, jittery panic that he hasn’t felt in years.

 

His wrists are red raw, and his throat is raspy. He doesn’t know if he’ll ever be freed.

 

He might die in here.

He might -

 

No. For all he knows it’s just a dream.

 

He thinks he drifts off, just for a bit, but he’s suddenly woken by the sound of alarms. 

And footsteps?

Oh.

 

Well, at least he’s not alone in here. 

  
  


Bruce bursts through the door, eyes wide and hair akimbo. He skids to a halt, almost cartoonishly at the edge of the bed, and starts undoing Thor’s restraints. 

 

Thor’s never been more glad to see anyone in his life. If Bruce is here - that means everything’s real. Him, Brunnhilde, Korg and Miek - he hadn’t made it up. He hadn’t hallucinated. 

 

Oh, Loki’s going to kill him. 

 

“Bruce?”

 

“No time.” Bruce replies, voice pained, and drops one set of cuffs to the side of the bed. “You’ve got to get up. Can you walk?”

 

“I-I don’t know?” Thor replies, honestly, but starts working on the other cuff with his freed left hand. “How long have we been in here? What’s going on?”

 

“Fifteen hours.” Bruce replies, and slides off one of his ankle cuffs. 

 

Oh.

 

They’ve missed the funeral.

 

But he doesn’t have time to care because Bruce is undoing his final ankle cuff and dragging him off the bed. He lands heavily on one ankle - putting weight on anything really hurts, but he can just about weight-bear - and stumbles slightly.

 

“You’re okay?” Bruce asks, squinting at his eyes quickly. ‘No headache, dizziness, nausea?”

 

A little of all three, but he doesn’t think he’s concussed. Concussions feel different, and they wouldn’t have kept him sedated if he was. “I’m fine. What’s happening?”

 

“We’ve gotta get out of here. Get your belongings.”

 

“Bruce - I just- tell me what is going on. I’m not… hallucinating this too, am I?”

 

Bruce’s hand stills on his shoulder. He sighs. “No, Thor. You’re not hallucinating  _ this _ .”

He doesn’t know if he can trust that, but it’s really all he’s got.

  
  


They take off out of the room at a run. The corridor outside is white, linoleum, shiny. The lights hurt his eyes. 

The alarms are louder out here too. Everything seems a whole lot more sharper now the painkillers have worn off - there’s edges to things again.

 

And Bruce is with him.

Which is good. 

  
  


“Where are we? What is this place?” He asks, somehow barely managing to keep up with Bruce. He’s injured, yeah, but Bruce is  _ fast.  _ He doesn’t exactly look like the sort of person who could outrace Thor in a dead sprint, but he’s certainly managing to. 

 

“Medical facility.” Bruce grunts, and ducks around a corner.

 

“Yes, yes - I got that from the doctors, and the restraints and everything, but what medical facility? Whose medical facility? They  _ lied  _ to me, Bruce - I’m not a moron, despite everyone’s propensity to treat me like one. Please tell me what’s going on.” 

 

“I don’t think you’re a moron.”

 

“Tell me what’s going on.”

 

“Fuck.” Bruce stops. Turns to him. “Just wait. Wait till we get out of here. Please. I’m trying to save both of our lives. I’ll explain everything as soon as we reach the van.” 

 

_ Van? _

 

But Thor can hear the desperation in his voice. He doesn’t question it.  “Okay. Let’s go.”

They go.

  
  


He’s barely conscious when they get to the van - too exhausted from whatever They had pumped into his body - too confused and stuck in his own head to make sense of it all. 

Bruce drags him into the back, using some kind of inhuman strength, and neatly deposits him down next to Loki.

 

He’s so glad to see his brother that he could  _ cry. _

 

“Loki..?” He rumbles, quietly, unsure whether or not he’s awake.

 

Loki cracks open one eye and glares balefully at him. “This is  _ why  _ we don’t pick up hitchhikers.” But then he relaxes, sighs, and says, “Good to see you, brother. Come here.”

 

For the first time in about six years, Thor’s allowed to embrace him.

It is good.

Despite the wildness of the day so far, hugging his brother is something he'll never say no to. 


	11. Chapter 11

_Saturday afternoon_

 

The van is silent. Brunnhilde is driving. Korg has the passenger seat, Thor and Loki the middle, and Bruce is spread out in the back, head resting against the window.

 

It’s not even their van.

 

Because, as far as Thor knows, their van is at the very bottom of a river, right underneath a rainbow bridge.

 

Unless, of course, that was a hallucination, which it very well could have been.  

 

Jeff’s probably going to kill Loki once they get back to civilisation, which will be, of course, after Loki kills Thor.

 

There’s going to be a lot of maiming, Thor can see it in his future.

 

“Is there any chance any of you are going to tell me what’s going on?” Thor finishes wrapping his red-raw wrists in gauze that he found in a first aid kit under the front seat. His muscles _ache_ in a way that they haven’t in years. It doesn’t feel good. It doesn’t feel right.

 

Loki is sleeping, head resting on Thor’s shoulder in a way that he hasn’t done in _years._ His wrists are already wrapped, and he looks content.

 

It’s far from how Thor feels.

 

“It’s probably best that we don’t tell you-” Korg starts, clutching Miek to him as he looks over his shoulder from the passenger seat.

 

“No.” Thor slams his hand down on the seat next to him, forcefully enough that the seat creaks underneath him. Loki doesn’t wake. “No. You don’t get to do this. We let you all come with us out of kindness, and look where we are now. Please. Just… give me something. Tell me something so I know that it is all real.”

 

“We can’t-” Brunnhilde starts, but Bruce, voice raspy and exhausted from the backseat, just says, “We’re dying.”

 

“Yeah, good way to start talking about it, bro. Real good. Not gonna scare him at all.” Korg crosses his legs and leans back against the seat. He also sounds fed up. “Might as well tell him that he’s probably dying now too.”

 

“WHAT.”

 

Thor’s roar isn’t loud enough to wake Loki from his slumber, but it’s getting pretty close. He sighs, suddenly exhausted and just… so fed up. It’s too much, this. It’s far too much. He was just trying to go to a _funeral._ He scratches at a welt on his arm, knowing he probably shouldn’t.

 

“The government has been doing a lot of medical trials.” Brunnhilde says, very matter-of-factly, her eyes still on the road. “They have been for a while.”

 

“Trying to improve the human body for combat, fight disease, anything and everything.” Bruce adds. He has a hand over his eyes. “They found people who didn’t have anyone to miss them for their studies. And we… were part of the last batch.”

 

“You ever been part of a medical trial before, bro?” Korg asks, looking at him with one tired eye. Miek is licking his hand.

 

“I went to medical school, didn’t I?” He replies, in lieu of actually answering. He’s been in a _lot_ of medical trials.

 

“It was a few days of injections. Didn’t feel like much at first, but then it began to hurt.” Bruce says, tiredly, “The long and the short of it is that it’s autoimmune. The trial didn’t work, and they couldn’t cure us… so they just left us out to die. I suppose they wanted to monitor how we would go.”

 

“That’s barbaric.” Thor spits, suddenly incensed beyond belief. He went into medicine to _help_ people. This is… too much.

 

“You’re not wrong, man.” Miek yelps a little as Korg grasps an ear too tightly. “Shit. Sorry, pup.” He strokes the puppy’s back in a conciliatory way. “So we… made a run for it, along with a bunch of others. Split up. We’re trying to get to New York. That’s all. Then we might actually survive this thing.”

 

“What’s in New York?” Thor asks, anger ebbing only a little bit.

 

“Ours, and presumably your saviour.” Korg replies, a tad snippishly. “The man, the mystery.”

 

“Don’t be like that.” Bruce groans. “He’s not that bad.”

 

“Tony Stark.” Brunnhilde finishes.

 

Oh.

 

Now, despite the… fear of death that is hanging over them all, that is… an issue.

 

The story goes like this.

 

Thor doesn’t like big-market capitalists. Doesn’t like Stark’s foray into the arms trade either. He’s not a hippy, but his father’s empire has done enough to innocent people that he’s developed a bit of disdain for that sort of personality.

 

Five years ago, Thor was a little more… radical… that he is now. Slightly more wild. Loki too, in fact. There’d been a protest at a Stark gala. Peaceful, technically. Chaos-causing, absolutely.

 

And it’d been a good time. Really. He hadn’t been caught by security, although Loki had, he’d not compromised his degree or anything…

 

But he’s never going to forget the look on Tony Stark’s face after smashing a water balloon full of red paint on him from three feet away. It had been _excellent._

 

But, he’d been surprised Stark had never ruined his career for it. He knew he had the capacity, knew he’d seen his face, but he’d just… never done it.

 

“Well, he won’t remember that.” Bruce says, dismissively, sitting up in the back seat. “Tony’s been protested against so much that there’s no chance. Besides, he’s the only one who can help us.”

 

“Could you not just.... _telephone_ him?” Loki asks, patting Thor on the shoulder and then stretching like a cat. Apparently he’s been listening for quite some time.

 

“They’ve been trying to recapture us ever since we escaped - they’ve been tracking us for days. Do you really think alerting them to our presence via a phone call would be a good idea? And besides, do you have a phone?” Brunnhilde snaps, not taking her eyes off the road.

 

Thor… hasn’t seen his phone for hours. It’s probably in the middle of the river. If he didn’t dream that part up.

 

“It would have been easier than recruiting two unsuspecting strangers to drive you halfway across the country.” Loki snaps back, just as annoyed. He looks around. “Where’s Jeff’s van?”

 

Nobody quite knows how to answer that question, it seems. “We-” Korg starts, and then drops it.

 

“Did I hear you say that we might have your disease, too?” Loki demands. He doesn’t seem very happy.

 

Thor isn’t either, but at least he’s better at hiding it.

 

“You were both restrained when we broke out of the facility. There’s a chance…” Bruce trails off. He swallows and scrubs a hand over his face. “Look. Do you feel tired, achy, nauseous? Do you have a headache, a rash? Do you feel worse than you should?”

 

“Brother?” Loki asks, but Thor doesn’t reply.

 

He rolls his sleeve up to above his elbow, revealing a whole line of welts and hives smattered over his skin. “Come to think of it, I have not felt… well… all morning.”

 

“If you die before you get to see me as King George in _Hamilton,_ I will be livid.” Loki swears, but there’s an underlying thread of worry under it, all the same.

 

“I wouldn’t miss it.” Thor swallows. He doesn’t know whether the lump in his throat is because of the sickness or because of anxiety. He doesn’t know which is worse.

 

-

 

The endless road stretches out in front of them. They’re close to New York, he knows that, but it doesn’t feel close enough. They pass through little towns, called Penfield and Kylertown and Winburne.

 

Brunnhilde squints out the windshield. Loki asks, more than once, if she wants him to drive, but she just grunts and keeps at it.

 

While the road trip was never really _fun,_ exactly, this tension is worse.

 

-

 

The van slides to a halt on the berm at the side of the road just past Lime Ridge.

 

Thor’s head jolts against the window and he sits up, sharply. “What’s happening?”

 

“...The engine’s on fire.” Brunnhilde says, very matter-of-factly. “We need to get out.”

 

She’s not wrong.

 

In the backseat, Bruce is sleepily opening his eyes. He’s pale, mottled with dark bruises. He doesn’t look well. “What’s… goin’ on?”

 

“Fire. Get your things.” Thor shakes Loki awake, collects his belongings, and stumbles out of the van. His world shakes around him, just for a moment, but he blinks it away. He’s hungry. It’s nothing more.

 

Korg drags his feet and limps away from the van. There’s dense forests to either side of the highway, stretching off as far as the eye can see into the distance. Brunnhilde joins him. They both disappear into the trees, stumbling, hardly

 

Not waiting for someone to pick them up then, it seems.

 

“Bruce.” Thor shakes him awake. “Bruce. Come on.”

 

“Jus’ let me sleep…” He groans, eyes slits. He’s hardly cognizant.

 

The fire is roaring now, black smoke pouring from the hood of the van. They need to move.

 

“Loki. Help!” Thor snaps, and Loki, who is half asleep, skin translucent and pale, does.

 

They half-lift, half-drag Bruce across the metal traffic barrier on the side of the road and into the trees. It’s dim in the forest, but not dark. Brunnhilde and Korg are slumped up against a tree trunk, curled up together with Miek in between them. The puppy wags its tail when it sees them, but the pair don’t move.

 

“Wake up.” Thor lowers Bruce to the ground and places his jacket beneath his head. He shakes the other two roughly. “Wake up. You cannot go to sleep.”

 

Everything in his medical training is telling him that if they go to sleep now, in the middle of the forest, they mightn’t wake up. Bruce certainly doesn’t look like he’s going to.

 

“I can go out to the road.” Loki offers. “Wave down a car. Get some help?”

 

“Do you think that’s a good idea?” Thor rubs at his eyes. He can feel tiredness threatening to overwhelm him, to drag him under. He can’t let it. “After what they said about people pursuing them?”

 

“Brother, you know as well as I do that the scientist isn’t going to survive without medical help for much longer.” Loki points at Bruce, whose chest is rising and falling, but only barely.

 

He’s right. “Fine. Stay away from the van. I don’t… trust that engine.”

 

“Do not die before I come back.” Loki replies, and squeezes him on the bicep, before disappearing into the trees.

 

For Loki, it’s almost as good as a declaration of love.

 

Thor settles himself down between Brunnhilde, Korg, and Bruce. He starts by trying to rouse all three of them, calling their names, tapping them on the collarbone, squeezing their fingers - he gets a sleepy sigh out of Brunnhilde and Korg but nothing out of Bruce.

 

That’s when he realises Bruce isn’t breathing.

 

Anyone would panic at the thought, but he doesn’t have time or energy for panic.

 

He can’t find a pulse.

 

He needs to do something.

 

He pushes Bruce down flat to the forest floor and starts giving him CPR.

 

Thirty pulses.

 

Two breaths.

 

Check.

 

Nothing.

 

Thirty pulses. Two breaths. Check. Nothing.

 

Thirty pulses, two breaths, check, nothing.

 

Thirty pulses two breaths check nothing thirty pulses two breaths check nothing there’s been some chatter in medical circles lately about the validity of the rescue breaths when doing cpr because the point is to get the heart restarted but he does them anyway,

 

thirty pulses two breaths check nothing,

 

_stayin’ alive_ echoing in his head like a relic of a fever dream spinning around and around dizzily dazily,

 

thirty two check nothing,

 

and he doesn’t want to lose him doesn’t want to lose any of them because they _matter_ and they’re _important_ and he doesn’t know if the thudding in his head is the drum line from the music or his own heartbeat and he just can’t-

thirty-two-check-nothing

 

“Thor. Stop.”

 

 

[ ](https://www.flickr.com/photos/97081555@N07/46918587564/in/dateposted-public/)

**Author's Note:**

> hit me up on the [ tumblr ](http://villainousfilmmaker.tumblr.com)
> 
> [ follow the roadtrip virtually here! ](https://www.google.com/maps/d/u/0/viewer?mid=1lCLKe6_COd9tHgxryslKv21ofKZ2gD0X&ll=37.17009734225069%2C-111.308715&z=6)


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